The Dragon of the Ishtar Gate
- Автор: Де Камп Лайон Спрэг
- Год: 1968
- Язык: английский
- Год: Lancer Books
- Жанр: Научная фантастика
Электронная книга - «The Dragon of the Ishtar Gate». Краткое содержание книги:
Dragon is probably closest in mood to de Camp's fantasy novels, while Bronze God and Arrows are closer to his science fiction, with their description of engineering problems, and personality clashes among researchers and engineers. Dragon also reflects de Camp's then-recent acquaintance with the Conan stories and other works of Robert E. Howard. Bessas, the huge Persian nobleman, is not only a close match for Conan in physique, but his mood swings, fixation on his mother, and tendency to toss of verses, seems a reflection of Howard himself. (Fortunately, his poems reflect de Camp's verbal dexterity and wit, not Howard's melancholy.)
The next morning, the travelers took their way across the grassy downs of northern Syria, past villages like clusters of stone beehives. Within an hour of departure, a drumming of hooves made them turn. Along came Skhâ on a piebald pony, waving a spear. He bore a light leather buckler, like those which Myron and Bessas carried. On his head was a crested leather helmet stiffened with strips of bronze. As this helmet was too large for its wearer, it came down over his eyes. He had to tilt his head backwards to see. The pony was small beside Bessas' big charger, but as Skhâ was the shortest of the three men this made little difference.
Bessas looked slit-eyed at his recruit. "Well," he said, "where did you get the arms and the horse?"
"You said it was my affair how I- " began Skhâ, but Bessas cut him off with a roar.
"No arguments! I know what I said, but today I am asking a question, and I want a straight answer!" Skhâ bit his lips, gulped, and finally answered. "The arms I b-borrowed from the town armory, and the horse belongs to my elder brother."
"All right. We may have to borrow a thing or two ere the course be run. But that does not mean pilfering within the company! We have a short way with the light-fingered." Bessas drew the edge of his hand across his throat. "Now, think well ere you make your decision. The way will be longer and harder than you can imagine, and we may all go the Bridge of Judgment. Nor will you find me an easy, kindly leader. I will try to use you justly, but sweet-tempered and long-suffering I am not. When I command, I expect you to jump to obey. Our lives may hang upon the speed of your compliance. Do you understand?"
"Aye, my master. Your servant has already decided. I will go with you, though you be the dragon Illuyanka in disguise."
"Then swear!" Bessas administered to Skhâ an oath like those that he had exchanged with Myron.
Skhâ proved a garrulous young man, incessantly questioning his companions and chattering about his personal affairs. "By what route do you plan to reach Egypt?" he asked.
"By way of Phoenicia and Judaea," said Myron, "or the land of Canaan, as the older manuscripts call those countries."
"By land? Let me tell you: I have spoken to many travelers, and they agree that it is quicker and less arduous to take ship from one of the Phoenician ports."
"We go by land," said Bessas. "Horses and mules do not travel well by sea."
"Or perhaps it is that noble Persians, who mortally fear water, do not travel well by sea either?" Skhâ grinned impudently.
"Do you call me coward?" roared Bessas, grasping his hilt. His face became convulsed with passion. "Oh, no, sir! But you—"
"Quiet, both of you!" cried Myron. "Bessas, you warned me at the outset against disputes within the ranks. Would you quarrel over the shadow of an ass? Now, can you swim or can't you?"
"No, but what business is that of yours? That ducking I took in the Oxus, when the Massagetai were after me, will suffice me the rest of my life."
"Do you swim, Skhâ?"
Skhâ toyed with his copper and crystal amulets. "Nay. But I fear not ship travel—"
"Harken! Bessas has been teaching me archery and swordplay, on the ground that these skills may come in useful. But knowledge of swimming will be just as useful, because of the many rivers and lakes that lie before us. So, my dear fellows, since all Milesians learn to swim, I shall teach you two the art the first time we encounter a body of water deep enough for the purpose. No objections, pupils," he said firmly, as the others began to protest, "or you must confess not only that you're ignorant of a useful skill, but also that you are too timid to remedy your ignorance."
They subsided. As the sun sank, they rode down a gentle, sparsely grassed slope into a broad shallow basin. Here, rising amid its orchards and vineyards by the sluggish Chalos, stood Halpa. From the center of the town arose a steep-sided frowning citadel.
They put up at a khan. A turbaned porter with boils on his face let them in through a gate in a high, blank stone wall.
Inside was a spacious quadrangle. A fountain gurgled in the center of the quadrangle, while stalls for travelers' beasts comprised its periphery. In back of each stall was a large locker for the traveler's gear. Above each space, opening on a balcony that ran around the quadrangle, was a sleeping chamber. A cubical brown brick building, with a tavern on the ground floor and the owner's quarters above, filled a corner of the quadrangle.
Having tethered their beasts and stowed their gear, the three travelers betook themselves to the tavern to enjoy the famous wine of Halpa. When they had drunk deeply, Skhâ said:
"Master Bessas, give me, pray, a small advance—say half a shekel—on the money you will pay me in Egypt."
"Why, you little beggar! You can go to the House of the Lie."
"But, sir—"
"Shut up; curse you!"
"But—"
"Just a minute," said Myron. "What do you want this money for, Skhâ?"
"Well—ah—this is the season when the unwed girls of Halpa go to the temple of Ashtarth—or Ishtar as you easterners call her—to earn dowries as temple whores. In Barbalissos we have no such temple, so I am fain to seize my opportunity here."
Myron said: "Why not make a celebration of it? Although I am no three-ball man, I think my old yard retains a stand or two. How about it, Bessas?"
The giant sat with darkened face and clenched fists, breathing heavily. He scowled, bit his lips, hesitated, but said at last:
"I'm with you—after dinner, that is. Is your temple open of nights, Skhâ?"
"Until midnight. But, sir, if I may say so—ah—"
"Speak up, lad!"
"Think you not that we should visit the bathhouse first? I mean no offense, but you know how fussy some women are—"
Bessas, in another unpredictable change of mood, gave a rumble of laughter. "Aye, youngling, I see what you mean. Myself, I take a bath every month whether I need it or not. But this were a special occasion, eh?"
Torchlight flickered about the temple of Ashtarth to the west of the citadel. From the citadel wall came the wailing call of the Announcer of Moons and the flat blare of rams' horns saluting the thin silver sickle which, low in the western sky, marked the coming of a new month.
As Bessas and his followers entered the spacious temenos of Ashtarth, they stared about. Directly before them lay the sacred pool, in which swam fat old carp, some as long as a man's arm, bearing jewels affixed to their fins by golden clips.
A clank drew the travelers' regard to the left. There, at a safe distance from the gate, was tethered the living symbol of the goddess: an aged lion, sway-backed and gray-muzzled, fastened to a stake by a golden chain. He plodded back and forth with the air of a fat old man feebly exercising in the gymnasium.
To the right rose a great wooden pillar, twenty cubits tall and shaped from the trunk of a cedar of Mount Libanos. The pillar was roughly but unmistakably carved into the form of an erect phallus. A crowd of Syrians stood around its base, while on its top stood a priest, who had climbed to his risky perch by means of pegs driven into the sides of the pillar. This priest, making a trumpet of his hands, shouted prayers upwards into the star-spangled sky.
Next to the base of the pillar stood another priest holding an offering bowl. As each offering from the faithful tinkled into the bowl, the priest on the ground shouted up to the priest on the pillar the name of the petitioner and his particular desire. The priest above then shouted his prayer to the gods, who presumably could hear him the better because of his height. As he finished each prayer, he shook a sistrum, for the silvery clang of the instrument was known to be an effective demon repellent.
Beyond the fishpond, a small temple rose amid the sacred grove. In front of the naos stood an altar and a sacred basin, overshadowed by an ancient oak. From the lower branches of this tree depended hundreds of necklaces, trinkets, and strips of cloth, hung up by the faithful in gratitude for former benefits or in hope of future ones. From somewhere wafted a wailing hymn, sung to the tune of a lyre. Mingled with this sound and the shouts of the priests at the pillar was the bleating of sheep, kept in a fold at the back of the naos to sell to worshipers for burnt offerings.